


Son of Dathomeer

by clv44



Series: From Screen to Page [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Intense, Science Fiction, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) Spoilers, screen to page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clv44/pseuds/clv44
Summary: An adaptation of the resurrection of Darth Maul.
Series: From Screen to Page [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594162
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Son of Dathomeer

Blood.  
Hatred.  
Pain.  
Hunger.

Maul was filled by them, consumed by them. He longed for them and yet longed to be rid of them. He ran toward and away from them.

Love is a lie. Mercy is a weakness. The Force is power.

Words. Words that held no meaning to him. Words that were spoken from far away in a voice he didn’t recognize.

Slash.  
Blast.  
Fire.  
Cut.

He scratched at his arms, digging at cuts and burns long-healed. And yet he felt them, every blade that had drawn blood, every flame that had been used to test his strength. He could see a hand holding the candle. A hood covered the holder’s face in shadow, with only a smile gleaming out at him, bright and cruel. Maul felt an invigorating sense of hate, filling up the hollowness in his heart. He longed to rip and tear at the shadow, to bite, scratch, skewer it with his horns. He reached for the shadow, to rip back its hood; he wanted to see its eyes when he tore the flesh off its face. He grabbed the black fabric and pulled.

Maul was struck by a blinding pain. He clasped his head in his hands, overgrown nails tearing into the bald red flesh. He rested on his skeletal legs, flailing and clanking around him. Don’t think of that, he chided himself. He curled back up into his dark cave of thoughts that itched and prodded at him night and day.

Death.  
Cruelty.  
Power.  
Jedi.

“JEDI!!” Maul shouted it into nothing, his hatred burning hot as a wildfire. He saw silhouettes holding swords, the blades alight with fire. They slashed at his arms, his head, his gut, his horns. He screamed, shielding himself from the slashes that scorched and left stinging cuts. His eyes aches from their bright green and blue flames. Suddenly, the slashing stopped and Maul opened his eyes. The silhouettes were gone and now only a lone figure stood before him, holding a sword that shown with a painfully radiant blue glow. The man lifted the sword and his face became illuminated. A pair of piercing eyes as blue as his sword. A bushy beard and long hair. He may not look the same as he did on Naboo, but Maul knew who he was. He could never forget.

“Kenobi…” This name was filled with more hatred and bloodlust than any of the others he had known. But there was fear there, as well. A parasitic sense of terror that reduced him to a pathetic, whimpering ball. He wanted Kenobi to go away. He wanted to kill him, but he wanted to go nowhere near him. He shook with anger and fear, unable and unwilling to move. Kenobi took a step towards him, the sound of his boot echoing inside Maul’s head. He flinched and Kenobi took another step, suddenly right in front of him, his sword raised above his head. Maul covered his face and whimpered, hating himself and hating Kenobi even more for making him feel this way. He braced for the killing blow, the flash of blue light and pain that would mean his death.  
But it never came. Maul uncovered his eyes; Kenobi had disappeared and instead of the blue light of his blade there was a glowing ball of green flame floating in front of him. Maul stared at it as it hovered closer to him, reaching his eye level and stopping.

Maul stared, not daring to move. A tongue of flame gently floated out from the orb and gently caressed his forehead. The vision he saw made him want to cry with joy. He was standing triumphant over a fallen galaxy, the universe in flames. The Jedi temple lay in ruins behind him and Kenobi knelt bound and gagged at his feet. Maul held a broadsword, red and hot as newly shed blood. He stared into Kenobi’s eyes as he lifted it and saw the same paralytic fear he had been forced to carry for nearly 20 years. He brought down the sword on Kenobi’s neck-

The vision abruptly ended and the little ball of green light slinked away from him. Maul grabbed at it, lunging for it as it flew just out of his reach. He couldn’t be denied his victory; he would have it if he had to break the orb in half and rip it out.

The ball of green led him on and on, always just out of reach of his clutches. He didn’t care where it was taking him; he would have it. He would see the fear in Kenobi’s face just as the life left his eyes, his headless body a testament to his power.

The orb floated upward and Maul followed, standing on his hind legs and reaching out for it. It didn’t move. It stayed there, waiting for him. He would finally have it. He could finally see Kenobi die.

The orb dispersed into a cloud of green smoke. A pale hand reached out to him and what sounded like a hundred voices filed his ears.

“Now,” they said. The hand touched a bony finger to his forehead. “Sleep.”

Maul’s mind and body went limp. He tried to resist; he hated sleep. His thoughts roamed free when he slept, torturous and unruly. They took him to places and times he’d rather not think about. He fought for control of his mind, but all he could do was flail as he fell on his back on to a bed of stone. He heard voices, but they were muffled, as if heard through a pillow.

Then the pain began. It was a pain of the mind at first. The knots of his thoughts were being ripped at, undone and sometimes removed entirely. It was like stripping away bits of his flesh, but with each tear of burning pain he became clearer. So much he had forgotten came back to him; his training at the hands of his master Darth Sidious. The years of pain he’d endured to prove himself worthy of the title “Sith Lord.” His knowledge of the Force, the power he wielded with it. Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten his own name. The only thing he hadn’t forgotten, the one thing he didn’t need to be reminded of, was Kenobi and the debt he owed him.

The pain in his mind ceased and Maul allowed himself a moment of relief, though he was sure more pain would come. That’s when his legs started to burn, as if they had been dipped slowly into hot slag. Maul shrieked at the pain, but reminded himself of its goodness.

“Only through pain is one made stronger,” his master’s voice came to him. “Pain is a gift of the dark side, so you must take it.” So, Maul took it, still shrieking and reveling in the pain that was his crucible.

Finally, the pain subsided. Maul was panting, basking in both agony and relief, fear and hate. The conflict inside him swirled like a turbine, giving him power and the will to keep going.

Maul opened his eyes and saw the green light again. He took a step towards it. This thing was obviously a servant of the dark side; it had led him to its gift of pain and through that pain his memories. He strode towards it, determined and full of a familiar confidence in his own strength. The orb began to expand and became larger with every step he took. Soon, it was a gargantuan tunnel, leading on to nothing but darkness. Maul stood at the mouth of the cave; he could sense the dark side calling to him to his destiny. And his revenge. He stepped into the cave’s mouth.

“Arise, Maul!” The cave walls shook with the hundred voices he had heard before. “Reborn son of Dathomeer!”

The end of the cave opened and Maul saw now what it had been: his eyelids. He stared up at a cavernous ceiling, stone forming a bed beneath him. He turned and saw a large, yellow Zabrack standing over him, concern in his gaze

“Brother?” it asked. Maul grabbed its face in a vice grip and turned the Zabrack’s head as it struggled. In the depths of his memories, memories he had buried, memories of home, he remembered two other yellow Zabrack chasing him with sticks around the hut. The struggling Zabrack before him had some features he remembered: sharp cheekbones, long horns for his age and the same sickly yellow eyes.

“Brother,” Maul admitted, releasing the Zabrack and propping himself on his elbows. He looked where Steam rose from his legs to find two mechanical abominations fused to his abdomen. They were gaudy, rigid and seemed to be made of multiple, incongruous droid parts. He didn’t hate that they were ugly, he hated they were there at all. It was a reminder of his failure; it was a poor, mocking replacement for what was lost. He could never be what he was before; he had become only half a man.

“My legs…” he said weakly, wanting nothing more than to rip the metal apart with his bare hands.

“They have been restored,” his brother told him in a deep, rumbling voice. “By Mother Talzin.”

Of course, Maul thought. Only the Night Mother could think of such a perverted offering as a gift.

“It has been… so long and my path has been so dark,” he mused, thinking of the years spent insane under the garbage wastes. “Darker than I ever dreamed it could be.”

“And yet, you survived.” His brother held out a lightsaber hilt in his massive hand and Maul felt memories spark; it as the other half of the double bladed weapon he’d lost on Naboo. His missing legs ached with phantom pains. He could see the face of young Padawan Kenobi staring at him as he sliced him in two.

Maul slipped off the stone altar and his knees gave out underneath him. The internal joints scrapped against where they met his spine and his head hurt as his brain activated old abandoned motor functions. His brother reached out to help, but Maul swatted away his hand. He must stand on his own two feet, make the pain his own, conquer this hill so he could climb the next mountain. He steadied himself, embracing the pain as his new, clawed feet found firm ground.

Maul stretched out a hand, calling in the Force to bring him the weapon. The Force he saw was not the one he remembered. The energy in the air was torn asunder, waves of the Force ripped and strained. They moved slowly, erratically. Maul gritted his teeth and ordered the Force to bring him the saber. He tightened his grip on the energy and felt a cry to through it. The Force always cried under the will of the dark side and Maul had always reveled in it. But Maul remembered the cry being more rewarding, the sorrowful song of a conquered foe who was now his slave. The cry that came now was weak, a dying man begging to be put out of his misery. The hilt weakly floated toward him and he clasped it tightly.

“Of course I survived,” he snarled. He lunged into a run, hearing his brother close behind. They passed by hundreds of bodies on the cave floor; some of battle droids, most of fallen Night Sisters. Maul felt no pity at the sight of their corpses; the Night Sisters has treated him and his brothers like cattle ever since he was a boy. Their lives were hardly a loss to him.

They finally reached the cave exit and stepped out onto the red-lit, fog-heavy grounds of Dathomeer. More bodies met them and Maul skidded to a halt to concentrate, grabbing at strands of the Force. He thought perhaps outside of the Night Sister’s temple the Force would be different; less abused, more powerful, easier to manipulate. But as he reach out to the Force he felt the same strain, the same weariness and chaos and weakness. It was all wrong!

Maul threw back his head to the sky and gave a scream of rage, grabbing and pulling at the power around him. The Force wailed pitifully in return.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an installment in what I think will be a series of one-shots adapting scenes from pieces of visual media. If you have any scenes from movies, tv shows, games, etc that you’d like to see brought to the written form, let me know and I’ll add them to the queue.


End file.
